The Boy Who Stare At Monsters

The morning that follow Wake from the prayers of an atheist I take what is giving A nine till five that ain't making for a living God is found on a diner placemat Under twenty cent coffee Sent prayers written on palm Your mom raise you on tea that was neither sweet or bitter Our broken television rival not the drama at eight Neighbors fighting out front A heart is draw above every I Hurt didn't start the moment you was cut But rather when you knew it was meant to The moment you caught the worry gaze of your mother eyes And yes they say this too will scar For you won't even be a star in your own pain It's the blood that drain and ran off into your main streets Before the rain came and drown the sound of blues men and their sax Give it a name So that you can be reminded That love is a plate of leftovers kept warm on the stove That hate is a fate met at the end of a barrel of a gun